


Relief (Flashforward)

by ayerlind



Series: I Could Live a Little More [12]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Dommy Paulo, Everyone is Poly Because Spurs, Jan Vertonghen has a hair-pulling kink, Jan actually knows what he's doing tyvm, Jan's face just goes searching for trouble sometimes, Jazzaniga, Juanito the annoying little brother, M/M, Paulo the surprise mother hen, Post-Match, Team Clueless, and a voyeurism scene that isn't a voyeurism scene, it's a shower scene that isn't a shower scene, poor baby, precious Juan, specifically post the Brighton match that took Hugo out, subby Jan, super tense Paulo, the wives and girlfriends are in the loop, which works out great because Paulo Gazzaniga likes to pull hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22411240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayerlind/pseuds/ayerlind
Summary: October 2019Jan's face just goes searching for trouble sometimes.
Relationships: Paulo Gazzaniga/Jan Vertonghen
Series: I Could Live a Little More [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621807
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Relief (Flashforward)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amethystfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amethystfox/gifts).



October 2019

Brighton

When the heavy door to the changing room slammed open, it silenced the normal post-match chaos and the better part of a dozen heads snapped up. It was already tense enough to begin with; after the exhausting and painful shut-out they’d just endured, everyone could only do their best to feign normalcy while they waited on tenterhooks to find out the extent of Hugo’s injury. All at once, Uno came to a halt, Eric and Dele stopped wrestling, Toby froze with his comb halfway to his head, and Juan flinched in surprise. He aborted his mission of fighting Ben to give him his damn shirt back, brow furrowing when he saw that Paulo was the one framed in the door, tall and tense and still sporting bright orange, eyes stormy under his heavy brows. 

Juan glanced around, seeing the same nervous expression on a lot of faces - he knew he wasn’t the only one wondering if he was there to deliver bad news or not. 

Ben was the one to break the silence, prompting, “Everything okay, mate?” 

Paulo seemed to realise exactly what conclusion was being jumped to, and he quickly shook his head, offering a frown. “Nothing new,” he said shortly, not bothering to actually pretend that Ben had been asking anything else.

Holding onto the ‘no news is good news’ mentality as tightly as possible, most of the squad went back to what they were doing, satisfied enough with solving the mystery of the door flying open. Juan, however, narrowed his eyes, seeing something else reflected in Paulo’s - something that made him abandon Ben and his shirt entirely, trotting over toward his friend instead, giving him a wave and a confused look. Paulo made brief eye contact without actually seeming to see him at all, eyes scanning the whole room before he went stalking off toward Falmer's away team showers. With his mile-long legs, he was quick even when he wasn’t striding purposefully down a corridor, and Juan really did have to put a bit of a spring in his step to catch up just as Paulo was about to round the corner and open the door. “Paulo!” he called. 

Paulo’s face was shockingly intense when he spun around. “ _Espera_!” he snapped, and Juan’s next step was a bit of a stumble as he stopped in his tracks. Despite all of the bellowing and swearing and directing that he did from between the sticks, none of that aggression ever really followed Paulo this far off the pitch. He wasn’t sure whether it was worry for Hugo and about being his relief, disappointment at his own performance against Brighton today, or something else, but something was more wrong than usual, and it hurt Juan to see Paulo - who had so quickly become his closest friend on the squad - this upset. 

But he said to wait, so Juan waited. 

For about ten seconds. 

Paulo already teased him about practically being his kid brother - he might as well earn it by bothering him until he cheered up. 

Before he even got as far as the still-ajar door, though, he heard Jan’s voice - well, more accurately, a high pitched yelp that was followed by Jan’s voice. His accent made his words sound even more clipped when he raised his voice, sounding half amused and half almost petulant. “Shit! Paulo, you scared me!”

“You scared _me_ ,” he heard Paulo reply, but in contrast, there was no mirth in his voice whatsoever. Juan reached the door and started to push it the rest of the way open, but he stopped when he saw Paulo towering over Jan, somehow making the man who was just as tall as Juan look about as short as Lucas. Jan was wearing nothing but a towel, his black eye, and a soft frown, his bare back pressed against the wall while Paulo had him caught under the chin, inspecting his eye. “You always risk your safety like this,” Paulo scolded. 

Jan looked up at him, his smile soft and crooked. “Come on, you know I’ve had worse,” he said. The words were flippant but his voice was gentle, and he gestured at his swollen face. “I didn’t put my face there _expecting_ him to fly back into me, you know.”

“Yes, and ten minutes before that?” Paulo asked archly. 

At that, Jan appeared to bristle slightly. His jaw jutted out and his lips disappeared into his very ginger beard when they pressed together in annoyance. “What? When I headed away a ball that was going toward goal?” He enunciated his words unnecessarily, seeming genuinely offended by the notion that he shouldn’t be willing to risk just as much as the rest of them. “That’s my job. I’m a defender. That’s why my head is _there_.”

“Jan.” When Paulo said his name like that, Jan tried to duck his head apologetically, but Paulo’s hand was still there. He held his chin firm, voice low and reassuring despite Jan’s defensiveness. “Did I ever say I’m not proud of you? I’m sorry.” He frowned, looking sincerely upset that he had made Jan feel doubted. “Your play was incredible. It always is. You save us over and over, every game.” Jan clearly blushed and Paulo paused to smile and sigh, licking his lips anxiously. “But first there was Hugo. Then, I watched you fall twice in like, fifteen minutes. Then Toni grabbed me so fast at the half that I didn’t even get to ask about you. So do not argue with me.”

Jan murmured something that was too soft to reach Juan’s ears, and he blushed, casting his gaze toward the ground despite Paulo still having him by the chin. 

When Paulo let go, he just looked down at Jan for a few seconds, something unreadable on his face. Paulo looked extremely out of place, all fully kitted and serious in a place where Juan would only expect easy smiles and quick banter and a lot more bare skin. With a look around that somehow didn't encompass the door, Paulo pulled Jan by the wrist - forcefully, but not roughly - over to the bench, and said, “Sit down.” 

Jan sat, and he sighed longsufferingly when Paulo manipulated his head this way and that, gently prodding his cheekbones and forehead with his thumbs, testing the swelling and the bone underneath. “You do know that they did this on the pitch, right? Almost two hours ago?”

“Shut up.” More quietly, Paulo rumbled something in Spanish that Juan didn’t think Jan would likely follow, but he happened to agree with - the medical staff that had cleared him today had also been comfortable sending him back on after his collision with Toby last season; Juan really couldn’t blame Paulo for being sceptical, if quite late in his scrutiny. Juan could remember very well how shaken Paulo had been after that matchOnce apparently satisfied that taking an entire ball _and_ someone else’s skull to the face hadn’t done any new damage to Jan’s hard head, though, Paulo sighed out a breath that seemed to collapse all of his tight lines and hard angles. “Yes,” he finally acquiesced, “why your _head_ is there. Not your face.” Hands both still gently clasping the sides of Jan’s head, he shook his own head despairingly, and bent down far enough to fondly bump his forehead against Jan’s.

“Ow!” yelped Jan; he was already smirking, though, when Paulo pulled back, looking nervous for just a second before his eyebrows fell to sharpen the look. 

Jan only gave an innocent shrug. 

Paulo groaned fondly and dropped one hand, but the other slid up into Jan’s hair and tightened, pulling his head a bit to the side and giving it a gentle little shake. It was an affectionate gesture that made Juan smile, but it did something else to Jan entirely, his eyes dark and his bottom lip between his teeth, whole body seeming to relax and stiffen all at once. Eyes downturned, Jan pressed his lips against Paulo’s wrist just south of his bracelet, nuzzling into the rough touch. 

" _Te amo_ ," murmured Jan. 

And finally, Juan understood. And to be honest, he probably couldn’t have kept himself from letting out a giggle even if he’d wanted to. 

It was enough of a relief that it turned out the only thing upsetting Paulo was that he worried so, but realising that Paulo and Jan had this - and ohhh, _now_ he understood Paulo's occasional shiftiness, and some of the sly remarks that he’d heard Patricia and Sophie make to each other in recent months - just made him all the happier for them.

Paulo and Jan jumped like two startled cats at the sound of Juan’s sudden soft laugh, both whirling to face the door and looking comically trapped, blushing to the tips of their noses and gaping helplessly, which only made Juan laugh harder. 

“Ah, bro--” began Paulo.

“No wonder you stress out so much when you’re in goal sometimes,” Juan teased in Spanish, grinning widely. He had an extra little giggle at Jan's furrowed brows. “All that shouting and snarling. I already knew you worry too much about me as it is - if both of _us_ are supposed to be putting ourselves in the way of people getting to _you_ , it’s a wonder you can play at all.”

Paulo opened his mouth like he at least wanted to attempt to argue, but instead a laugh came out, and his laughter doubled Juan's. Something about both of them cackling set Jan off, and a mix of their completely stripped nerves and _this_ , whatever this was, made all three of them just continue to feed off of each other until no one could breathe for laughing. 

The pandemonium drew a crowd of several curious teammates who were easily satisfied by the answer of, “Jan scared Paulo,” when they flooded in, and they immediately fell to laughing and taking the piss out of him, regardless of not even really knowing why Paulo was blushing _quite_ as much as he was. Many of them brought fresh clothes and went straight into showers, and the atmosphere turned to what Juan found familiar and oddly comforting - the sound of running water and light laughter, steam in the air hanging over their taunting and gossiping and towel-snapping, the sound of Lucas’s teasing and Serge’s cackling echoing off the walls, Ben chastising Coco for roughhousing on wet tile.

Across the chaos, Juan grinned at Paulo, who made a face at him - the face he always made when Juan was successfully pushing all of his annoying-little-brother buttons - before he turned back to Jan, a peculiar look on his face as he squeezed Jan's shoulder. Jan gave him a brief smile before he drifted off to join in with the banter and laughter, and Paulo, with a small, fond smile on his face, made his way toward Juan, who cocked his hip to hold the door open, his wide, smug smirk still in place and only growing as Paulo got closer. 

“You are so annoying,” Paulo muttered as he passed. His hand shot out like a snake striking and he caught Juan’s nipple between two fingers, giving it a pinch and a twist. Juan yelped, flailed, stumbled, and swore extensively in the two languages that he knew and a couple that he didn’t - and Paulo just threw his head back and laughed, seeming so much _lighter_ now. He winked easily at Juan, then literally started whistling on his way back toward the changing room for his own fresh clothes, walking with a swagger easily twice as obnoxious as if they’d have won, leaving Juan grinning in his wake. 

They’d had a shitty day, but they always bounced back as long as they all had one another to lean on. Support could look like all sorts of things, but no matter what form it took, it was there - they were a family.

From behind him, Juan heard a screech, a high pitched, “Moussa!” and an impressive litany of incensed French cut through the laughter, and he rolled his eyes. 

A very, very weird family.


End file.
